dance for me
by Mariyekos
Summary: [Blue Lions spoilers] The dagger was poisoned. Dimitri doesn't notice, too torn over the friendship he'd once had and the future he'd destroyed, so many years after telling his friend to cut her own path to make it.


**Author's note: [Originally posted to AO3] I don't remember where I got the idea for this, just that I suddenly thought "what if Edelgard had poisoned that dagger" and decided to run with it. It's a little dark, but not quite as dark as I had initially envisioned it to be. I think I'm just tired. This is also a bit shorter than what I usually write, so without further ado, enjoy.**

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When he extended his hand to Edelgard, something in Dimitri already knew she wouldn't accept. El had always been stubborn, had always clung to her ideals like a lifeline. There was no way she could build the world she wanted after having lost the war, and losing that future wasn't something she'd accept. So deep down, Dimitri knew she would never take his hand to walk beside him. The second she'd fallen her fate had been sealed.

Knowing she would refuse didn't mean he wanted to acknowledge it, however. He knew she'd say no, but he desperately wanted her to break character and reach for his hand and for a future where she could survive. To abandon those ideals that were so central to her person, but so damaging to her memory. She was his childhood friend. She was his sister. She was the one who'd taught him to dance and had brought him so much joy when he was only a boy and still so ignorant to the pains of the world, and the idea of such a person not only dying, but dying by his own hand was nearly unbearable.

He had assumed that, after her refusal, Edelgard would simply choose to stay in the throne room and bleed to death. Dying on her own terms. He didn't want to kill her, but he also didn't want to force her to spend the rest of her life suffering in prison as she'd inevitably do were she to survive. There were no other options left for her after all she'd done.

What he didn't expect was for her to make one last attempt at his life. He'd noticed the subtle movement of her shoulder as she reached for something behind her back, but he was so engrossed in his inner turmoil he hadn't even considered the possibility she was trying for one last kill.

When he thrust Areadbhar through her chest, it was an automatic reaction. He didn't even feel the blade of the old dagger he'd given her pierce his armor and embed itself in his shoulder. He's seen her move and his body responded, wounding her far more than she had wounded him. Her body jerked at the sudden contact. The sudden hastening of her death.

But for some reason, she looked up to him with a smile.

Why? She knew she hadn't killed him. His wound was nothing. Hers was… She slumped to the ground before he could even finish the thought, body only held up by the ancient relic that ran through her chest. He pulled the blade away. She thumped to the floor.

But El had smiled anyway. Had she craved death that much? Or had she been able to see the pain her suffering had caused Dimitri and felt satisfaction from it? One last blow, even if only mental.

El had always been able to read Dimitri as if she were some kind of psychic. Whenever he came to her after a long day in the castle or frustrating lessons with his tutors, she always knew when something was wrong. She'd sit on the small wall they always met at, gently swinging her legs back and forth, pigtails swaying back and forth as they were caught in the chilled breeze. And somehow, he could always tell when she'd seen right through him. The small smile she'd give him like she knew something was wrong but didn't want to be impolite and press him too far. Then they'd dance and play pretend until Dimitri either heard the bells signalling the hour of his next appointment, or finally conceded to that silent gaze and poured his heart out to her.

Usually it was the latter.

But now El was gone. She was no longer there to listen to what he had to say. That look in her eyes told him it all. She knew the pain her transformation, her suffering, her death had brought him. And she'd died with that knowledge, leaving Dimitri without anyone to talk to about it. Byleth was a good companion, but...they'd never been good with emotions. Though they'd grown to have their own over time, they still missed the little things. Lacked the intricacies of feeling most people possessed. That Dimitri possessed. Byleth had done their best, but in this case, he knew there was nothing Byleth could do to relieve Dimitri of the weight on his shoulders and in his heart.

Maybe Byleth understood that. A moment later, they turned away, the click of their heels the only sound to fill the throne room. The click of their heels, and the muted splashes of blood dripping from El's chest and off Areadbhar's tip, and the creak of leather as Dimitri's free hand balled further and further into a fist that would in no way undo what had been done.

He reached for the dagger in his chest and ripped it out with one fluid motion, throwing it at his feet.

He'd given it to Edelgard to make her own future. To cut her own path. To free herself from whatever hidden ropes had bound her while they'd been children that she'd never been fully comfortable talking about, but Dimitri knew existed nonetheless.

Now he'd taken that very future away from her. He'd destroyed the armies she'd formed to realize her dream, and pierced a hole through the heart that had dreamt it. The dagger had lost its purpose. Maybe she'd thrown it at him as a way of passing on that dream and that future. But he couldn't accept the offering. A gift once given was not meant to be returned. He would leave it with El, where it was meant to be. He had his own path to take.

His steps were heavy as he made his way to Byleth's side, a sick feeling settling deeper and deeper in his stomach as he walked toward the doors and the army undoubtedly waiting outside. He didn't want to think about the cheers that would greet him once the doors opened. He was glad the war was over, but he didn't feel like a hero. Not with El dead.

It was almost funny. For years, the idea of killing her had been the only thing that had sustained him. Now that he'd done it he felt as though he was wasting away.

His steps stopped. Dimitri slowly turned to look at El one last time, to cement the image of what he'd done to her in his mind, to carry the weight of his actions for the rest of his life. But Byleth stopped him, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door.

El's life was over. Her place in Dimitri's life was over. It was time to move on.

He knew it, and yet…

And yet, he had a job to do. He had a people to lead. A continent to reconstruct.

He turned away, only a small blur of bright imperial red and bloodied white gracing his vision before he focused once more on the doors and the people ahead of him. He'd lived too long in the past, listening to ghosts and their whims. It was time to live in the present.

The doors opened and the previously muffled sound of cheers from outside suddenly broke clear, assaulting him with noise in such a way Dimitri couldn't help but cringe. He had been having trouble dealing with loud noises since his time alone during those five years, but the noise of the cheers was so, so much worse. Suffocating, almost. He felt sick. It was so bright.

But Byleth pulled him along anyway. They stepped out into the light, the white, blinding light that was trying to pierce through his skull and end his suffering now that he'd finally appeased the spirits, and stood before the crowd.

Dimitri could hardly make out the figures who stood before them. He saw a bright orange he assumed had to be Sylvain's messy head. Two blurs of green, one next to the other, one tall and one short. Seteth and Flayn, then. Royal blues of Kingdom soldiers and honey yellows of their new Alliance companions. He could make out no faces in the rush of things, not with the light shining directly onto his face and only one eye to make out the details before him.

Byleth urged him forward once more, and Dimitri began to speak. It took him a try or two, as ashamed as he was to admit it. His voice just didn't want to leave his throat. But it eventually did after those first little failures, and he could hear the sound of his words echoing off the grand walls around him, carried through the old and magnificent city by wind and power and maybe a little bit of someone's magic. He spoke of the peace that would come with the war's end, and the rest that followed it. The new ties that could be forged out of the treaties and hearts that had been broken. The new path the continent would follow under the hands of himself and his advisors. The change that would come, that although without details for the moment, would be for the better. He called back to some of the decisive battles. To moments of near-crushing defeat, to hard-fought victories, to the sacrifices of many that had paved the path to Enbarr and the new world. Some names were mentioned. His Lions, first and foremost. A few Alliance soldiers. The members of the Empire that had supported the Kingdom knowing what was best for their people. Rodrigue.

He only stopped when he could speak no more. His throat was dry. His vision had not improved. One of the headaches that so frequently plagued him was pulsing in his temples like a grappler attempting to finally end his life.

So he made a short conclusion and looked to Byleth, ready for them to give whatever spiel they would give about the church before the two of them could leave.

Dimitri stood by Byleth's side the entire time, but did not hear a word they said until he felt himself being nudged along, whatever Byleth had been saying apparently over.

Had the weight of guilt always been so harsh?

Though this was more than just guilt. The Tragedy of Duscur was something he wished he could have prevented, but was something he always knew he'd been powerless to stop.

El's death had been by his hand. Something he'd initiated. Something he'd chosen to do.

And that made it all the worse.

A few minutes into his walk to wherever Byleth was taking him, Dimitri's legs finally gave out. By then his body felt so numb and he felt so sick that he didn't even register when his head hit the ground; only noticed he was looking at sky instead of stone.

Byleth was shouting something above him. Dimitri still couldn't understand what they were saying.

They pressed their hand into his shoulder, fading in and out of view as Dimitri's vision pulsed from black to the scene in front of him and back again. Was it the shoulder wound that had made him feel so bad? He hadn't tried to heal it yet, but it wasn't that deep. It wasn't bleeding that badly. It shouldn't have had such an effect on him.

Then it hit him.

The dagger must have been poisoned.

El had always been smart. She'd always been great at reading him. She must've known he'd do nothing about the dagger. She must've prepared in advance.

Maybe that smile wasn't one borne solely from the knowledge of the mental anguish her death would cause. Maybe it was honed by the knowledge of the physical pain that awaited Dimitri. The knowledge that in all likelihood, his guilt would lead to inaction, and that inaction to his death.

Dimitri felt tired. He couldn't muster the strength to keep his eye open anymore. The world was spinning above him, and there was so much sound and sparkling light but he couldn't identify any of it. It just felt heavy. He just felt tired.

'I'm sorry, El,' he thought, body numb. 'I failed you. I'm sorry.'

The noises, his last hold on the world in front of him, faded.

Taking their place was an image. A red mass on the floor, white strands spilling around it. The white lifted. A face came into view.

Dimitri held out a hand. The red figure reached up and took it in their own.

Then they stood, and white turned to brown, the imperial red turning into a softer carmine.

The girl in front of him smiled. Dimitri smiled back.

They began to dance.

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**Author's note:**

**Dimitri's a pretty tortured guy, especially given his precarious mental state and all the things that keep getting slammed at him despite it. I don't think he could just walk away from Edelgard's death. He has a duty to fulfill and he will fulfill it, but I don't think he could ever really move on from what he's done. It'll always be there, even if he ignores it (which is what I think he did during the academy days for the ghosts of his father, stepmother, and Glenn. Saw them, but ignored them, trying (and failing) to move on with his life).**

**If you're here for R&R...sorry. I think my motivation is dead. Fates pales in comparison to Awakening, and even Awakening falls when it comes to Three Houses.**

**Until next time, Mariyekos.**


End file.
